


By the Seaside

by Luthienberen



Category: Murder by Decree (1979)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Minor Angst, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 09:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: After unveiling the sordid conspiracy behind the Jack the Ripper killings, Holmes decides what he and Watson need is a holiday from London and where better than spending Christmas by the seaside?





	By the Seaside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/gifts).



> graycardinal had _Murder by Decree_ listed as an option and I couldn’t resist delving into the Holmes and Watson as portrayed by Christopher Plummer and James Mason respectively. This Holmes and Watson are more mature and settled into life with each other, hopefully I’ve captured their spirit. 
> 
> The title comes from a well-known British song, (which I have heard often and also sang off-key *ahem*), “I do like to be Beside the Seaside”, that admittedly was written in 1907 so a bit after 1888! However, I assure you that the lyrics do not appear in this story, it just fit the feel of fic. :)  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Do_Like_To_be_Beside_the_Seaside
> 
> Thanks to my beta who has ventured into the rarer Sherlock Holmes adaptions for me!
> 
> * * *

London with its teeming populace no longer held the same fascination for me as it had previously; not since I had torn apart the conspiracy that shrouded Jack the Ripper and revealed the filthy foundations which supported the man…the _creature_ … who had destroyed so many women.

Perched by the window and staring down at the people strolling on the pavements outside Baker Street, women in their colourful hats and men in their smart sombre suits, I did not even have the heart to deduce their supposed secrets. My eyes drank in the information, but my mind dismissed it immediately.

A girl’s cry for her mother startled me and I looked about. There! On the opposite side of the road stood a little girl, thankfully found by her alarmed mother. The girl’s hair was dark as was her mother’s and I was surprised by how that made my heart hurt. They were so similar in my mind to another mother and daughter, but unfortunately that mother was lost.

At least we were able to save the poor little girl, whose only fault was to be born to a philandering prince and a good, kind woman who thought the Prince loved her.

Even Watson is subdued, his patriotic fervour for the prince mellowed to the point of quiet disdain. That I cannot forgive.

I am not surprised by the Prince casting aside women, but his behaviour has never sat well with me and I thought the scorn he has received from some quarters well-deserved. Yet the result of his latest affair was shocking even to me and unforeseeable, let alone unforgivable.

It has wounded my perception even more of the wealthy and those of the class who support them in their endeavour to screen their indiscretions.

Yet Watson, proud and true Watson, once faithful servant of Her Majesty in his position of Assistant Surgeon in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, that _Watson_ should be so disillusioned angers me.

Watson is the type of man we all strive to be and if I am honest, a better man than my good self. That those vultures deem themselves better than he and sit in power…No. I must not dwell on such thoughts.

I only sink deeper into my dark mood which worries Watson. Then again, I have also been fretting about Watson this past month, so we are even I suppose.

The flat was quiet for Watson was out, gone to buy a few medical supplies. I hadn’t wished him to go alone, still concerned over his shoulder wound but Watson had been insistent. So now I sit, awaiting his return with my thoughts dark and depressing.

Horses and hansom cabs clattered by, but as the last hansom cab disappeared Watson appeared in view. I admit to feeling great happiness and relief that my friend Watson was nearly home.

Hastily standing, I made for the door, only stopping to arrange a blanket on Watson’s chair for it was mid-December by this point and very cold.

“Holmes! Do you know that they had run out of bandages? What sort of respectable establishment runs out of bandages?”

Watson burst in with a flurry of icy air, his hands full of packages.

My dark mood lifted and I grinned, as I took his parcels and began gently assisting him out of his overcoat.

“Perhaps Watson, the type which is not so respectable? Or maybe there are some nefarious reasons for a lack of bandages?”

Watson grunted as his overcoat finally came off and he rolled his left shoulder with a wince. “Holmes, I appreciate that we have received no cases since…well, since _then_ , but I wish you wouldn’t imply that the pharmacy I source my supplies from is this iniquitous den of thieves.”

“Oh my good man, why would I ever imply that? And you wound me Watson. I care not for cases.”

“Oh really?” Watson moved to his chair and smiled warmly when he saw the blanket I had placed there.

“Indeed,” I replied. Fetching Watson’s pipe, tobacco and our matchbox I handed them to Watson and dragged my own chair closer.

“Allow me,” I murmured when Watson attempted to reach for a parcel and inhaled sharply.

“Holmes…”

“I know Watson, I fret too much, but you did receive a burning poker in your left shoulder. I believe that constitutes a fair reason to be concerned over the welfare of my friend.”

A strong cold hand settled on my forearm and squeezed. Watson’s strength in his right arm and hand remained the same and gave me hope his left would soon recover. Watson examined me closely, his gaze causing my skin to prickle.

The good doctor always diminished his abilities in the ridiculous flights of fancies he wrote of our adventures together, but he was a very perceptive. To be the excellent doctor he is, Watson could hardly be a dullard, unobservant of everything.

“It’s no good Holmes,” he finally announced with a sigh and a gravelly tone, leaning back in his chair. His hand remained on my arm and I clasped my own over it, glad that my warmth would dispel the cold that recalled the chillness of death.

“What is no good my boy?”

“This fretting and black moods. We both have been on the edge since the Ripper case.”

Direct to the heart of the matter, that is my Watson.

“I cannot deny it Watson.”

“Hmmm, I wish you would leave London as per my suggestions.”

Gazing at Watson’s tired features, and the stiff manner he held his shoulder, the glint of concern in his eyes I knew so well I realised he was correct. London no longer held its siren’s call over me. It was time to move to pastures new until this darkness was washed from our minds and its power could no longer drag us down to the impenetrable deeps.

Ah, I was just as romantic as Watson sometimes.

“Holmes?”

“Nothing, my dear boy. Just amused by my thoughts.”

“Are they by any chance related to my idea of removing from Baker Street for a while?”

“My dear Watson, they are indeed.”

Astonishment flashed across Watson’s face and an expression of suppressed hope appeared. He did not speak, just asked with his eyes and sudden tightening of his fingers on my arm. His parcels lay forgotten between us.

“London has lost its charm, so let us flee 221b!” A thought coalesced and I laughed. “Where better Watson than the sea?”

“The sea?” repeated Watson confused.

“The fresh sea air will do us the world of good Watson!”

“You never struck me as particularly loving the sea Holmes.” A smile tugged the corners of Watson’s mouth.

“I hear much about the restorative benefits of sea air for the lungs and general health. Surely as a medical man you have heard of this?”

“Usually in the case of consumption and other lung ailments, but I do concur of the restorative measure the salty sea breeze can do, coupled with walks along the shore. Exercise and diet are equally important.”

“Then, my good doctor, shall we not go to the sea? We can spend a delightful Christmas unbothered by the smog and smuts of London. The sea can wash away the frightful stain left by this depraved conspiracy.”

“Romanticism from you Holmes? This is an occasion.”

“Settle down old chap. I shan’t be quoting Shakespeare’s sonnets anytime soon.”

“Hmm, just Petrarch then?”

“You wound me Watson.”

Watson laughed and my heart soared. That is how my friend Watson should be: serious with that streak of excellent humour which has seen us – me – through many dark days. Soon, with a rest, his constitution ought to reassert itself as well.

“Well then Holmes, which seaside are we heading for our Christmas hibernation?”

“A client of ours has a property in the town of Hove, near Brighton. It faces the sea with excellent views I am told. You recall her Watson? Her brother believed her missing and sought us to find her.”

“Oh yes, and it transpired she had fled to their uncle’s house so she could train as a medical doctor.”

“Yes, and Miss Robin became our client when her brother took the news rather badly. You threw him if you recall? Down a flight of stairs and reopened your wound.”

Watson raised an eyebrow at the sour note in my voice and squeezing my arm once more, unfortunately broke our contact.

“He raised a poker at you, my dear fellow. I had to do something.”

“A champion of women and one consulting detective.”

“The latter is a full-time job,” remarked Watson mildly.

“Yet I am the one accused of being incorrigible? Miss Robin’s uncle insisted his seaside flat be at our service when we demand, so I shall wire directly once I have opened your parcels and you smoke and we shall be off by the end of the week.”

Watson merely laughed again and I joined in, feeling at last the terrible shroud veiling me, lifting slightly.

* * *

_Christmas Eve_

The seafront of Hove was empty of people this early in the morning. The sun had peeked over the horizon only half an hour ago, but Watson and I were already strolling along the pavement that boarded the seafront.

To our right the beach fell away, the sand seeming to glow in the rising sun’s rays. A red-orange glow fell upon us and the beachfront. Yet the sun was cold, unable to chase away the chill of the winter air.

However, it bothered us little for we had a breeze rolling off the sea, full of the rejuvenating scent of the sea. I inhaled deeply, my arm locked with Watson’s and felt a peace settle through my very being.

The shadows of London lingered at the back of my mind, but a week in Hove had done much to banish these restless spirits.

Watson’s company was wholesome and slowly but surely his strength was returning. His shoulder was still stiff, but our walks seemed to be restoring him. He turned now to look at me, aware of my scrutiny.

His cheeks were red from the cold and breeze, his eyes bright.

“Shall we go onto the beach?”

“Why not Watson? I wish to have another look at the pier.”

“Holmes, I sincerely doubt we will find the remnants of a wreck.”

“Now don’t be like that Watson. Hove’s history of smuggling and thievery simply begs for mystery. Why, I shouldn’t be shocked to learn that there are mysterious wrecks lurking about ready for their ghostly tales to be told or smuggling rings requiring attention and that is only the beginnings Watson. Your yellow-backed novels suggest intricate betrayals over lost treasures or sailors lost at sea.”

Watson shook our arms and snorted. “For that Holmes, I shall write in my next story how romantic you can be! No cases my good man. We are here to _rest_ as you aptly told me at our departure and upon our arrival.”

I said nothing as we turned to our right and went down onto the beach. The sand was lovely and soft under our boots and we tramped to the edge where the waves lapped at the shore. Staring out at the slate-grey mass, which gradually transformed into shifting bursts of colour as the sun’s rising rays caressed a wave, I considered our options.

The seaside was truly healing and despite my prior insistences that this was so, I had actual experience of it now.

When we retired properly…my thoughts stumbled to a halt.

“Holmes?”

I looked at Watson who was frowning. “Whatever is the matter? If you really would like a case, I’m sure Lestrade would put in a good word for us with the local police.”

I eventually managed to speak, past the leaden weight in my stomach, as if the pull of the sea was trying to drown me. Damn, Watson’s stories have made me into a bigger romantic than I already was secretly.

“Watson…Watson, it occurred to me how beneficial the sea has been to both of us and my mind wandered – as it does you can appreciate.”

“Yes, of course, Holmes.”

“Well, it wandered directly to our retirement and the idea we should retire somewhere quiet and near the sea, for our continued health.”

Watson tilted his head, his voice laden with confusion. “Why would that be upsetting? Sounds marvellous my dear fellow.”

“Yes Watson, but…I am referring to _our_ retirement. Will you…will you be retiring with me? Or is there a Mrs Watson in your future? You are quite the charmer with women.”

“Ah,” Watson murmured and his expression softened.

“My poor Holmes. I do fancy the ladies Holmes, but you are my greatest and dearest friend. If I wished to marry I would have done so by now and I am rather too old to be desiring the responsibilities of married life. Keeping up and looking after you is sufficient responsibility.” He teased me.

Then he became serious. “Holmes, I am honoured that you are including me in your retirement, _our_ retirement. I would have it no other way.”

The sincerity in Watson’s voice convinced me, for Watson would never lie about such matters.

“I thought you unconcerned, considering your jokes about angry husbands at our door,” added Watson.

I shrugged. “You are my only friend Watson and I find that, especially after the Ripper case, I could not lose to bear your friendship. I am not the machine you have suggested.”

“I have written also of your laughter, your excitement and your goodness in playing music for me on your violin, of our adventures and our lows as well as our highs. Holmes, you are my friend and wherever you go I shall too.”

I swallowed, frustrated at my emotions surging, but then was that not like the sea? Mercurial and full of depths undiscovered by man? The pull of the tide in my stomach vanished and I sagged, relying on Watson’s arm for a brief moment.

Watson kindly allowed me before clearing his throat, eyes suspiciously wet. “Shall we finish our walk and return to our quarters?”

I straightened in answer and we walked beside the sea, allowing the sand, the smell of seaweed and salt and the breeze to soothe our flustered spirits. The latest crisis had been averted and our solid steady life, interspersed with adventure, could continue.

* * *

We walked to the pier ere turning back to our flat, so generously supplied by Mr Robin. At the doorstep we met the housekeeper who tutted at our frozen forms. It was rather reminiscent of Mrs Hudson, so I left it to Watson to reassure her of our wellbeing as we shed our overcoats, gloves, scarves and hats.

“Come Watson!”

Watson rolled his eyes, but followed to halt abruptly when I stopped suddenly.

“Ah! Our Lady has reappeared Watson!” I bent down to carefully scoop up the jet-black feline who was winding her corpulent form about my legs.

Green eyes blinked at me and a velvety paw touched my chin.

“Now this is a mystery Watson,” I said as we continued to the sitting room, Watson kindly opening the door. We sat on the couch before a lit fire, allowing the heat to chase away the chill of our walk.

“Mystery?” queried Watson as he rubbed his shoulder. He shook his head at my raised eyebrow.

“Very well, I’ll apply the ointment later, stubborn doctor.”

“I learnt from the best. Now, mystery Holmes?”

“Where Lady disappears to and where she is locating all the food she must be eating.”

Watson stared at me in astonishment, then dawning realisation, and finally he burst into laughter which he tried to muffle behind his hand. I suppose I deserved that considering all the times I had teased Watson for not interpreting a clue.

A moment later, Watson was himself though a hint of humour rang through his explanation when he spoke with a little gasp, “Holmes, the glamourous Lady is _pregnant_. She is disappearing to build her nest for when the time comes any day soon.”

Pregnant? I gazed dumbly down at Lady who had curled up on my lap. 

“Oh my fellow, you do need a case.”

Watson reached across to stroke Lady who purred in contentment.

“She has us Holmes, we shall keep her and her litter safe.”

As always Watson struck the heart of the matter. He was right of course, but I decided to spend the day deducing where her bolt hole was and securing it, and possibly re-thinking the lit candles on our tree…

* * *

_Christmas Day_

Lady was batting at the lowest branches of fir tree, meowing delightedly whenever the little bells on the branches rang merrily.

Watson and I had risen shamefully late after our venture of yesterday and were opening our presents with the smell of our Christmas goose and roast potatoes wafting up from the kitchen.

As the last wrapping of Watson’s gift to me fell away to be batted at by Lady, I was left with an elegant sleek black case. Snapping it open I surveyed the contents with bemusement.

“Hypodermic needles to clean your pipe with, Holmes. Instead of using my hypodermic needles,” added Watson empathetically, but with a glint of merriment in his eyes.

Chuckling at that I watched with interest as Watson unwrapped his gift and began laughing.

“Gothic horror and romance Holmes?”

“You do favour those yellow paperbacks Watson. I thought some new material would be preferable.”

Watson flicked through the books with interest then shook his head.

“I look forward to reading the gothic novel situated in a sea town the most, and if in the eventuality there are any shipwrecks I shall inform you.” 

Impossible man. A knock on the door however sounded before I spoke the sentiment out loud, resulting in Watson getting up to let in our housekeeper.

As he did so I opened the envelope addressed to me and discovered inside a telegram from Lestrade of Scotland Yard, being a letter of introduction to the local police.

Our housekeeper exited, leaving behind a bounty of a Christmas Lunch. Watson was fluttering about the table and chairs and only spared me a glance when he heard my exclamation.

“I thought some stimulation would suit us wonderfully Holmes. So while you were tracking down Lady’s secret lair, I slipped out and telegrammed Lestrade who kindly sent a telegram we could use, while also sending one to the local police station.”

Watson continued his task while I reeled at my friend’s kindness. Dazedly staring out the window where the world was covered in frost and the grey sea stretched into the distance I abruptly felt the last lingering shadows of the Ripper case slip away. I would never forget the ladies, particularly Annie Crook and Mary Kelly, both courageous and kind and sweet in their own ways, but I would think of them without horror or painful regret.

Instead I would do their memory, and the little girl they and the others had died to protect, justice by recalling their strength and friendship, and using it as an example for my own life.

Watson understood that the darkness haunting me had passed in some form and passed me a glass of wine as we sat down to our Christmas lunch. Lady was sat on a chair Watson had prepared with a plate of goose before her.

“Holmes?”

I simply smiled, at peace at last, and was overjoyed when Watson too relaxed and smiled.

“Merry Christmas Watson and Lady.”

“Merry Christmas Holmes and Lady.”

_~ Fins ~_


End file.
